Wild Child - Prison Fight
soppingwetpanties
This story stands alone, though you may want to read Wild Child, Ch. 01 for a more detailed background on how Brooke Ashworth became an inmate in St. Louis Women's Penitentiary.
Wild Child, Ch. 01 recounted the events leading to Brooke's incarceration. She was a troubled twenty-five year old women with few prospects and only her youthful good looks to trade on. Desperate for money, Nicole, a friend of hers from a previous stint in prison, co-opted her into a half-baked scheme to rip off a bunch of rich kids at a party, a scheme that went horribly wrong, with Brooke in prison yet again. Brooke was quickly befriended by Queenie, a forty-ish Puerto Rican woman who ran her cell block. Under her "protection," Queenie had Rina, a Russian prostitute, assigned as Brooke's cell mate. Rina introduced Brooke to the pleasures of lesbian sex and the joys of submission so that Brooke could join Rina as part of Queenie's harem.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, merchandise, companies, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters in sexual situations are 18 years or older.
Chapter Four
Hard Time
Brooke was in prison for six weeks, long enough to reset her internal clock. She was trying to condition herself to wake up at 5:55 a.m. so she could get a jump on the 6:00 a.m. wake-up roll call. Prison life for her was playing out like a broken record, the same song over and over until the words became rote, unfeeling, and hollow. She welcomed anything to break the routine and monotony, even if it cost her a part of her soul.
Though she was only twenty-five, it was her third incarceration, first as a juvenile at sixteen for grand theft auto, and then the next two as an adult for grand larceny. As a repeat offender, and having failed to raise the necessary bail money, she was placed in the St. Louis Women's Penitentiary, a medium security prison on the outskirts of St. Louis County. It was populated with a seasoned group of older women, many career criminals with serious offenses such as murder and assault, and not the young confused crowd in juvie and the minimum security lock-ups.
SLWP time was hard time. Long stretches of excruciating boredom punctuated by moments of extreme violence. The worst kind of violence one human could inflict upon another.
The young blonde's eyes flickered open to the darkness, and the frigid surroundings of rough formed cast concrete. Feeling the chill of the early morning, she pulled her rough wool blanket to her chin. Her cellmate Katarina "Rina" Nikolayev, a rail thin prostitute from the former Soviet Union, was still snoring softly in the bunk above.
Brooke was housed in a cell on Level Four of Cell Block D. Cell Block D was run by Amaya Reyes, a forty-ish Puerto Rican woman who was respectfully called "Queenie," both in and out of her presence. Queenie was serving a life sentence for the contract killing of one of her drug trade competitors in the Wells-Goodfellow area of St. Louis. Queenie still ran the drug trade there out of her cell, and no one in the D block moved, talked, or for that matter took a shit, without Queenie's permission. Queenie knew everyone and everything that went on in D block.
More importantly for Queenie, she had a direct line to Judge Pamela Harris of the Hamilton County Court of Common Pleas, the judge in charge of administering the consent decree entered into between a prison rights group and SLWP which gave Judge Harris plenary powers over the prison's operations. Judge Harris had a weakness for submissive females and Queenie happened to have a plentiful supply of them.
When Brooke arrived, Queenie immediately pulled her out of the group of new arrivals. Queenie had first pick of the newbies, and Brooke, being the most attractive of the newcomers, was made part of Queenie's harem. It was Rina who trained the young blonde to the pleasures of female love and the ecstasy of submission. But it was Queenie who full exploited Brooke's latent desires to be dominated by a strong woman.
Brooke noticed a shadowy presence outside her cell, and as her eyes focused in the dim light she saw there was a prisoner standing outside her cell holding a bouquet of flowers. It was one of Queenie's two personal bodyguards, Fung, a short stocky Asian woman. Fung was small, but she was an absolute bulldog in a fight, once killing another inmate who attacked Queenie.
"Special delivery," the woman said through the bars. Rina rubbed her eyes, awakened by the conversation.
They waited a few minutes until 6 a.m., when the bars to the cell opened. Fung smiled. Brooke could see a teardrop tattooed just below the woman's left eye. She handed the bouquet of red roses to Brooke.
"She don't usually give roses on first date," the squat woman said. She rolled her eyeballs and giggled. She left before Brooke could thank her.
"What's that?" Rina asked.
Brooke held up the bouquet above her head so Rina could see it from her perch on the top bunk.
"Nice, Miss. She no give roses to everyone. I got only daisies. You special girl."
Brooke was flattered. No one had given her flowers before. She wished she could return the favor. The previous night with Queenie was the most sexually fulfilling night of her life. Queenie had just scraped the surface of Brooke's powerful submissive urges. The young blonde realized there was much more to discover. She hugged the flowers against her chest.
Rina hopped off the bunk. She always slept in the nude. She had a skinny body but nice pear shaped tits. Brooke found out that the Cyrillic letters tattooed on her hand were the initials of her mother. She pulled her jumpsuit off her bunk and started to put it on.
"Queenie like you. You lucky Brooke." Rina zipped up her jumpsuit and looked at herself in the polished metal mirror. "I like you too."
Brooke smiled. It took her going to prison and finding a Russian prostitute and the Madam of the prison to finally make her feel as if she belonged someplace. She wrapped the stem end of the roses with a wad of wet toilet paper and left them on the floor.
Breakfast started out uneventful. A two minute walk to the cafeteria, and there finding a table with Queenie's girls. It was the one opportunity for women of different cells blocks to intermix, though they always kept to their own. Brooke followed Rina through the line, and after they filled their trays they picked their way through the long bench tables to the rear of the dining room, their usual spot.
They happened to pass a group of Russian women from Cell Block E. Brooke caught the eye of Sharree, the leader of the group of six women, as they passed by.
"Hey sweet cheeks. You come here eat my pussy," she said, pointing to her crotch. Her tablemates laughed at the crude remark. Sharree laughed, showing off her missing and crooked teeth. Rina pulled Brooke by the arm to get away from them as quickly as possible.
"Who's she?" Brooke whispered to her cellmate.
"Trouble," said Rina. "That's Sharree. Don't know her last names. She's drug addict and runs Russian gang in Cell Block E."
"What's she in for?" Brooke asked, finding a seat at their table.
Rina put her tray on the table and then stared at Brooke. "She kill husband. You stay away from her."
* * *
Brooke was put on a detail to clean and disinfect empty cells. She went to a small utility room in the common area between Cell Blocks D and E to retrieve a mop and bucket and disinfecting supplies. She bent over to pick up a bottle of Pine-Sol when she heard the door click shut. She whirled around to see Sharree, standing there blocking the exit.
The woman looked to Brooke to be in her thirties or forties. It was difficult for her to tell given the lines etched on the women's craggy face. She had flaming red hair, the result of a bad prison dye job, and crude prison tattoos etched on her arms.
"You Queenie's new pet?" she asked with a sneer. She had a pronounced Slavic accent and bad breath to boot. She reached behind herself to lock the door.
Brooke involuntarily stepped back, feeling like a caged animal.
"I'm Brooke. I... I was assigned to this detail," she pointed out, though her attacker wasn't listening.
Sharree was at least five inches taller and carried at least fifty pounds more than Brooke. There was no place for the young blonde to go.
"I knew that," the haggard woman chuckled. "You a sweet little thing, aren't you? Now you my bitch." She unzipped her jumpsuit and let it fall to her waist. She wasn't wearing a bra, so her large, floppy tits fell out. Brooke was shaking. She was going to get raped.
Sharree inched forward. Brooke tried to take a step back, but her heel caught one of the yellow, rolling buckets and she stumbled backward, falling on her back. Sharree towered over the young blonde, her eyes glowing with evil intent. She dropped to her knees with Brooke's waist between them. Queenie's "pet" was pinned to the floor.
"Not so high and mighty in here, are you?" the woman said, taunting her.
"I'm gonna get a little bit of that sweet ass for myself." She pulled a shank out of her pocket and dragged it roughly against Brooke's cheek, making a jagged scrape and extracting a few beads of blood. Brooke gasped but was afraid to scream.
The woman used her free hand to unzip Brooke's jumpsuit. She leered at Brooke's perfect creamy white breasts.
"Queenie's going for prime cut white meat," she chuckled. "Now it's mine."
She dropped the shank on the floor. It clattered on the smooth concrete. The woman roughly cupped one of Brooke's breasts. Brooke tried to struggle, but the woman grabbed Brooke's arm and squeezed it, hard enough for the young blonde to yelp.
The woman slapped Brooke hard on the cheek. "Shut the fuck up you little cunt. I'm going to show you how you get fucked in this prison." The woman shoved her hand inside Brooke's jumpsuit and started to work two fingers into Brooke's bone dry pussy.
Brooke heard keys unlocking the door. The door swung open. Two female guards were standing there. The guard who opened the door shouted "What the fuck's going on here?" when she knew damn well what the fuck was going on in there.
Sharree straightened up. Her coveralls were still around her waist so her tits were exposed. The guards laughed as Sharree zipped up. Brooke scrambled to her feet and zipped up her coverall as well.
"Listen, you girls need to wait till lights out if you want to fuck. You're supposed to be cleaning cells. Get the fuck back to work."
The guard who hadn't said anything noticed that Brooke was shaking.
"You OK?" she asked.
Sharree glared at Brooke.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," Brooke said in an unconvincing manner. The guard knew that if anything bad was really going on, Brooke wouldn't rat anyway.
"OK, you heard her. Get the fuck back to work," the guard said. She used her nightstick to give Sharree a sharp poke in the ass.
"Now."
* * *
Brooke went back to her cell after her work detail. She buried her head in her pillow. It was a harrowing experience even with the guards' timely appearance. Not but one minute later Queenie's tall African-American bodyguard appeared outside her cell.
"Heard you had a hard time in the utility room," said Gloria. Gloria was six foot, and two hundred pounds of pure muscle. No one fucked with Gloria.
Brooke lifted her head from under her pillow.
"Word travels fast."
Rina hopped off the top bunk.
